My hair, dirty and matted.
My forehead, creased with worry.
My ears, tuned to insecurities.
My eyes, sunken and jaded.
My nose, crinkled in concern.
My mouth, only a smile.
That is me – what I have become – what I have – and always will be.
I turn my head to the golden shackles which chain me to an obsidian block.
I have stopped struggling for a long time now.
Everyday another beautiful, glorious, shining bracelet brings me to bondage.
I look up to see it rear its ugly head.
The grotesque, clouded being offers me a luminous chain once more.
With cracked lips I whisper sweet tales and invite another.
My shoulders give way and I fall to one knee like Atlas.
My knees quake and scream in protest.